Aoshima's Revenge
by jadefirefly3D
Summary: Mabel learns the hard way that Smile Dip was banned for a reason after it makes her violently ill. Fortunately Dipper is there to help. But when her condition goes from bad to worse to serious, will his help even be enough? And where is Grunkle Stan? Set immediately after "The Inconveniencing"
1. Chapter 1

A/N Hello everyone! Thanks for clicking on my story! This is my first time writing for my new favorite animated series "Gravity Falls" and also my first attempt at writing in the first person POV so I hope it works. I'm not usually a fan of first person POV, but I like to stretch my writing muscles and for some reason my muse decided this story needed that perspective.

I love the sibling bond Dipper and Mabel have in this show, it's so refreshing to see! So without further ado, a shameless Pine Twins hurt/comfort fic (because any one who knows me knows I'm a sucker for the hurt/comfort genre)! Also please note that I will never write incest so...yeah. It's a dark side of the fandom I'd rather not know about...to each their own I guess, but you won't find it here.

Anyway, onwards story!

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**Chapter One**

OK so that was a weird night. As Mabel and I pile out of Thompson's van and watch as it speeds off, I find myself trying to decide if the night was a success or a colossal failure because while yeah, I saved us all from two vengeful ghosts there was also the fact that doing so was one of the most degrading and humiliating things ever and Wendy saw the whole thing. So not only did Wendy learn that I lied about how old Mabel and I are, but was also witness to the stupid Lamby-Lamby dance, a dark part of my early childhood I was trying so hard to forget. On the other hand, Wendy was so awesome to keep it our little secret and everything. I mean, how _awesome_ was that? She's the coolest girl I have ever…

A soft groan interrupts my wandering thoughts and my eyes seek out Mabel who has one arm wrapped around her stomach and a look of discomfort on her face.

"Are you OK?" I ask, not for the first time. On the ride home from the Dusk 2 Dawn convenience store she was looking a little green, but seemed otherwise OK. I can't help but let my amusement show, because she should've known better than to eat all that Smile Dip. I told her it was probably banned for a reason but Mabel being Mabel of course didn't listen. She'll eat anything made of sugar, especially colorful sugar. Heck, she ate a tube of toothpaste just last week because it was sparkly.

She responds with one of the dirtiest looks she can muster and groans, her hand going to her mouth as she gags slightly, "I'm coming down from the world's biggest sugar high and I was possessed by a couple of ghosts and now my insides are fighting to be on the outside, what do you think?"

I snicker, "I told you not to eat that stuff."

I expect one of her usual nonsensical responses, like blow a raspberry or something but she moans with a grimace, "Dipper, can you please save the 'I told you so's' for later? I'm really not in the mood right now…" she clutches her stomach tighter with the hand that's not covering her mouth.

"OK fine," I chuckle, "but you had to know that was a bad idea. I'm just glad you didn't puke in the van..."

Her face darkens as she glares at me and I stop snickering, "Please Dipper? Right now I could really use a little sympathy."

"You're right, I'm sorry," I reply with a sigh, placing my hand on her shoulder. But honestly, as much as I hate to see my sister like this, it's hard to feel sympathetic when her discomfort's completely self-inflicted. It's not the first time she got herself sick from too much sugar, and probably won't be the last and we both know it. Besides, she'll be fine in an hour or two at most.

Mabel frowns and pulls away, straitening up and lowering her hands and I can tell right away that she knows I wasn't exactly being sincere. That's one of the problems with being a twin, we know each other too well to fool each other easily. "Sure you are, Dipper," she sighs, wincing slightly before walking ahead towards the Shack, stubbornly dropping any pretenses of feeling sick.

"Aw c'mon Mabel…" I exclaim apologetically, feeling bad now because I didn't expect her stubborn side to show because usually when she wants sympathy for the sake of it she tends to ham it up and get overdramatic until she guilt trips me or whoever into giving it to her. But the fact that she's not tells me that she must really be feeling awful.

"It's fine," she says dismissively.

Before I can say anything else a loud crash catches our attention and we both look in confusion at Grunkle Stan as he leans his head out the window after throwing the TV outside. He mentions something about the remote and Mabel and I exchange blank looks in response. Grunkle Stan is a little…eccentric to say the least so I shrug it off and follow Mabel inside, shaking my head at our Grunkle's antics.

"Where were you guys?" Stan demands once we're inside, and he's still looking out the now broken window at the TV.

"We went out with some friends," I reply as Mabel quietly heads upstairs.

Stan shrugs and glances my way tilting his chin towards the empty space where Mabel had just been, "What's her problem?"

"Mabel?" I turn my head towards the stairs to our room, "She's not feeling well."

"Nothing serious I hope."

"Nah," I shrug, "she just had a little too much sugar."

"Good," he nods once, "cuz I ain't looking after no sick kids, cleaning up puke and what have ya…oh and don't get me started on the cost of medicine….oh and the smell!" he looks outside again, "Aw jeez, what was I thinking?! Damn it! My TV!"

I laugh as he storms outside to retrieve the TV. I linger a few minutes, listening with amusement at the sound of him cursing loudly through the broken window as he struggles with the TV and then I head upstairs before he can come back inside. I don't want to get in his way when he's like this, because that would be a bad idea.

By the time I get to our room Mabel is in bed, curled on her side snuggled under the covers. Her clothes are strewn haphazardly on the floor, which isn't like her especially when it comes to her sweaters. She loves her sweaters and always takes good care of them so I pick it up off the floor and place it on her dresser and realize that she must be feeling worse than I originally thought. I feel a lump of guilt form in my throat and I swallow hard, "Hey…uh can I get you anything?"

Her face buried in her pillow she shakes her head.

"OK then, uh… OK," I sigh awkwardly heading to my side of the room as I take off my hat and vest and start getting ready for bed. Our adventure tonight had taken its toll and now that the adrenaline from facing a pair of ghosts had worn off I am about ready to crash.

Mabel groans softly and takes a deep breath, turning her head to me, "Um, actually maybe some water?"

"Yeah, sure!" I reply, glad to help. Even though she only has herself to blame for this, I still hate it when she's not her usual happy self and there's nothing I can do to make her feel better, whether she's sick or hurt or upset and I know she feels the same way for me. I head to the kitchen and get her a glass of water and as an afterthought the box of crackers from the pantry to counteract the sugar. Hopefully they'll calm her stomach like they usually do.

When I get upstairs to our room Mabel's curled up into a tighter ball than before and her eyes are squeezed shut in a pained grimace.

"You gonna live?" I ask, sitting on the bed beside her and setting the glass down on the nightstand as I grab a cracker from the box and take a bite.

She groans, "Don't know yet…"

"You'll be fine in the morning," I say with hopeful confidence. "I got you some crackers, they seemed to help last time you OD'd on sugar."

Mabel nods, blinking her eyes open to look up at me and gives me a weak but grateful smile, "Th-thanks Dipper," she breathes shakily, "I hope so…this feels different though."

I frown, "How so?"

She shrugs and pushes herself up into a sitting position, "I'm not sure…" her voice is distant and for a second Mabel's eyes shift and it's like she's not here anymore, but then she blinks and she flashes a brief and humorless grin, "it just does."

Not sure of what else to do I pat her comfortingly on the shoulder and think back to how out of it she seemed at the convenience store. At the time I was too concerned with impressing Wendy and her friends to notice that Mabel was not acting like she usually did on a sugar high. She was acting odd, but then again that's Mabel for you, but usually she would've been bouncing on the walls all hyper and stuff, but this time she wasn't. She had been in her own little world, oblivious to everything around her and then when the ghosts started to attack and I sought her help she seemed like she was…high on something else that wasn't just sugar… OK now I _really_ want to know why Smile Dip was banned because I'm starting to worry it wasn't because of the ridiculously high sugar content…

"You OK Dipper?" Mabel quirks her brow with concern as she clutches her stomach in pain and I gape at her, because she's suddenly worried about _me_?

"I should be asking you that," I exclaim quickly, trying not to let it show that I'm not OK, actually I'm freaking out a little inside because what if Mabel's not merely sick from too much sugar but something else?

She rolls her eyes. Of course she would see right through me, "Then why are you freaking out?"

"I'm not!" I exclaim.

"You're such a dork," she teases as she takes a cracker and nibbles at it noisily with a silly look on her face, "nom, nom, nom…" I'm not sure if she's being silly about it for my sake or hers, or maybe both of us because clearly she doesn't feel up to being her normal goofy self. I can tell when she's being silly because she just can't help herself, and when she's faking it for whatever reason. The fact she's making an effort though calms me down inside and makes me realize that I was just being paranoid. She might be feeling the consequences of eating all that sugar, but Mabel's obviously going to be fine.

"I know you are but what am I?" I return with a laugh.

"Dork!"

"I know you are but what am I?"

She returns the laugh, though it's more subdued than usual and gives me a playful shove, "Dipper!" she whines playfully. I jump off her bed onto my feet, still laughing but the color suddenly drains from her face and she covers her mouth with her hands as lines of pain form around her eyes.

"Mabel?"

Her body lurches and she glances at me, her eyes wide and then runs from the room towards the bathroom. I wait a beat and then reluctantly follow and wait outside the bathroom door as I listen to her heaving. I wince at the sound in sympathy, it's her own fault she's sick, but I don't think either of us expected it to be bad enough that she'd puke. I wait until the sound stops and I knock softly on the door.

"Mabel? You OK in there?"

I hear her grunt from the other side, and then the flush of the toilet and the rush of water from the tap on the sink and I hear her move around. When she emerges, her face is flushed, her eyes are red and her hair is a mess. There's a water stain on the old t-shirt of dad's that she always wears as a night shirt and a section of her hair is wet and I wrinkle my nose at the implication in both disgust because, _gross_, and also concern. "Mabel?" I reach out for her but she walks past me and leads the way back to our room and flops on her bed curling back into a ball. Either she doesn't notice or doesn't care that she's partially lying on her covers as she tries to wrap herself up with the section of her blanket that she's not lying on.

"I'll feel better in the morning," she whispers shakily.

"Think that helped?" I ask, sitting on my bed and glancing towards the bathroom.

"I…I think so," she replies, squeezing her eyes shut.

I sit there for a moment and watch her to make sure she's going to be OK and gauge whether or not she might need to puke again, feeling completely out of my element and awkward. When she gives a violent and audible shiver and tugs at her blanket in a vain attempt to pull it out from under her I get up and help her. I pull her blankets free and drape them over her and she opens her eyes to smile at me, "Thanks Dipper," she mumbles with genuine gratitude before wearily closing her eyes again, snuggling under the covers.

"No problem," I shrug, giving her shoulder a squeeze and trying not to worry too much about how much I can feel her trembling, "Night sis. I hope you feel better in the morning."

"Me too," she replies, her voice muffled by her pillow.

I hesitate a moment before I climb into my bed turn out the light and snuggle under my covers. The air is a little chilly and I can hear the wind picking up outside whistling softly through the draft in the window and I close my eyes, my mind thinking back to the night's events. "I'm going to go stare at a wall for a while and rethink _everything_!" Wendy had said after we escaped the Dusk2Dawn convenience store and started to head home. _You and me both_, I think as I feel my cheeks flush from embarrassment as I remember just how exactly I managed to convince the ghosts to let us go.

Wendy is so awesome and cool and it's great that she didn't tell everyone what _really_ happened, making me look cool in front of her friends, but _man_, I have to live with the knowledge that she saw me in that stupid lamb costume dancing like some little kid.

I sigh. I _am_ just some stupid little kid and Wendy…Wendy is just so amazing. But now she knows I was lying about how old Mabel and I are…I mean it's great that she doesn't seem to care all that much, but I do.

Closing my eyes I picture her perfect face. Mabel was definitely right about how I feel about her, but now I know it will never work between us. But at least…at least we're friends. I guess I should be glad about that. But why, oh _why_ did she have to witness the Lamby-Lamby dance?! For me that was definitely the most traumatic part of the night.

I'm almost starting to drift off to sleep when I hear Mabel toss and turn in her bed, groaning softly. When she releases a small and shaky whimper, sounding so small and pitiful I open my eyes and sit up and turn to face her. In the faint glow of the moonlight I see her shift under her blankets, her body going straight and rigid before she doubles over on her side, curling back into a ball as she lets out another pitiful sound from the back of her throat.

"Mabel?" I whisper.

She responds with a groan and pushes herself almost into a sitting position before collapsing back into her pillow and, dammit, I swear she's starting to cry! It takes a lot for Mabel to cry so I _know_ she has to be feeling terrible.

I don't know what to do but I sit up, my instincts are telling me to go to her and help her but I stay where I am, unsure of what Mabel wants or needs, "Are you OK? Do you think you're going to puke again?"

"I don't know," she replies, her voice trembling. She attempts to get back in a sitting position again, this time successfully and she shivers, planting her feet on the floor, one arm wrapped tightly around her stomach as the other reaches for the bed post and grabs it with a white-knuckled grip. She seems to be trying to catch her breath as she swallows compulsively.

"Do you want me to get Grunkle Stan?" I ask, completely at a loss. I know he said he didn't want to deal with illness, but he's the adult so he'd know what to do. I don't.

Mabel shakes her head, her lower lip quivering before she bites it and looks up at me with wet eyes, "I want Mom!" she cries softly.

Suddenly I feel homesick. It's our first time away from home, away from our parents but until now I didn't really _miss_ them all that much. Sure, I did at first because I didn't want to leave California for an entire summer, but it really didn't take me long to feel at home here in Gravity Falls. But Mom always looked after us when one of us was sick, and Dad was always there to keep the other one company and with Mabel clearly sick as a dog right now and me not knowing how to help her, for the first time since I found the journal I wish we were back home.

"Want me to call them?" I ask.

"No, don't," she replies shaking her head, "I'm OK…" she swallows again, "I'm OK…" she repeats breathlessly.

"A-are you sure?" I ask even though I know she's lying even without the tell-tale lines of pain on her pale and sweaty face. I know Mabel too well. She prefers it when everyone is happy, especially me, so I know she doesn't want me to worry and I wouldn't be surprised if that's why she doesn't want me to call our parents.

She nods, taking a few deep breaths before tentatively letting go of the bedpost and reaching for the glass of water I had brought earlier. She takes a few reluctant sips and puts the glass back down and wipes at her eyes as her breathing evens out. "I don't want them to worry," she says finally, which of course came as no big shocker, "I'm fine…OK I will be in the morning… Besides, what if they think sending us here was a mistake and make us come home?"

"They wouldn't," I scoff gently, "they were too glad to get rid of us for the summer."

She smiles wistfully, "Yeah…"

I return the smile, a little relieved. She's still clutching her stomach and is obviously not fine like she says she is, but it seems like this wave of pain and nausea has passed and she didn't need to puke this time around. That had to be a good sign, right?

She groans and lies back down on her side, "Ugh, I'm never, ever, ever having colorful sugar flavored sugar candy again! No matter how sugary or sparkly…"

"You say that now, but the moment you're feeling better you'll be eating your sugar coated words, sis," I joke.

She chuckles shooting me a glare with tired bloodshot eyes and a weak grin on her pale face, "Yeah, you're so right about that one. But seriously, never again! That stuff is evil!" She squeezes her eyes shut again and moans pathetically.

"Mabel?"

"Go to sleep, Dipper," she grunts, "I'm OK, I promise. Just need…rest…." she buries her face in her pillow and mumbles, "…sleep this off."

"Yeah," I agree, we're both tired and right now she definitely could use some rest. It seems that the worst is over now, and I'm relieved.

She rubs at her neck in slight discomfort and turns her head to face me and smiles, "Good night, Dipper."

"Night," I reply, turning off the light and cozying up under the covers as I close my eyes with a sigh and will myself not to worry so much about Mabel or think too much about Wendy or her friends or the ghosts or the stupid Lamby-Lamby dance, or how the ghosts had possessed my sister and how Wendy saw me in that lame lamb costume and…oh crap. I'm thinking about it anyway. I roll on my back and sigh again, listening to wind outside whistle through the window, focusing on that instead.

I hate insomnia, and how even though I'm so tired I can fall asleep with the snap of my fingers if I could just turn off my brain once in a while I still end up staying awake too late anyway. The crazy night we had and the fact that Mabel's sick doesn't help.

_Great_, I think, _after the kind of ev__ening we had I think I'm still too wired to sleep even though I'm tired, I'll probably be up all night…_ I close my eyes and despite my negativity, I drift off anyway.

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A/N So Dipper thinks the worst is over huh? Will the next chapter prove him wrong? I think the answer is obvious but I hope you'll stick around to find out! ;-)

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is more than welcome! Reviews feed the muse, you know!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Thanks to my wonderful reviewers, WendyCorduroy353, StkAmbln and guest! You guys rock!

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**Chapter Two**

Sometimes, when people find out Mabel and I are twins someone inevitably asks us if that whole myth about twins having a sixth sense about each other is true. Honestly, I don't know how to answer that. I've heard stories about that before, like the one about one twin falling and breaking their leg and their twin experiencing phantom pain in the same spot at the exact same time and not even knowing what happened yet. But that's never exactly happened to us before—at least not like that. I think maybe it might be true with identical twins, but probably not fraternal twins.

But on the other hand, there have been times when I really need someone to talk to or well… whatever and Mabel is always there for me. She's always there for me anyway, I mean it's practically a given that we'll always have each other's backs, but I think if either one of us has a twin related sixth sense, I think it's her.

I remember one time when we were ten, my best friend since we were four told me he and his family were moving to Texas because his mom got a new job. I was devastated, but when I got home Mabel was already in 'cheer up Dipper' mode before she even heard the news. She already had my favorite dumb comedy queued up in the DVD player, had my favorite snack set up, wearing her craziest sweater yet and greeted me with a big hug and some lame joke told in a silly voice that always managed to make me laugh no matter how much I tried not to. She just had a feeling that I needed it. There was no explaining it, yet there was no explanation needed.

There were other times where Mabel just seemed to know when I was having a bad day and needed someone to cheer me up when logically she would've had no way of knowing, but it never happened frequently enough for me to be able to definitively say, yes, we do have that twin sixth sense. And while Mabel occasionally had a knack for knowing when I needed her, I didn't seem to have the same gift. Except once, but I think that was a fluke.

It was when we were barely six years old. I had woken up from a nightmare, having had a terrible feeling that something was wrong with Mabel. Unlike here at Grunkle Stan's, we have our own rooms back at home, but we shared a room until our sixth birthday so we were still very new to the whole separate rooms thing. I guess I had caused enough of a commotion to wake up Mom and Dad and they chalked it up to separation anxiety or something. But I was insistent that something was wrong with Mabel. When they took me to her room to reassure me that she was all right, we discovered that Mabel wasn't all right. In fact the next thing I knew we were in the car on our way to the ER. Turns out Mabel had eaten her entire collection of scratch-and-sniff stickers and they had made her really, _really_ sick.

I had never been so scared before in my short life. Mabel had to spend the night at the hospital and I guess it had shaken me up enough that we had to share a room again for a while.

But that was only one time. It never happened again, even though there had been times when I feel I should've had some sort of sixth sense about knowing when Mabel needed me. Like when she fell off her bike and broke her wrist when we were eight, or when her best friend turned against her last year and got gum in her hair…

So yeah, while I'm open minded about the subject, I don't totally buy the whole twin sixth sense thing. At least for me.

But now I'm wondering if maybe there is something to it as I wake up suddenly in the middle of the night, overwhelmed with the horrible feeling that something is wrong with Mabel.

I had been dreaming about the Dusk2Dawn convenience store. It was just like earlier this evening, except everyone was there to see me in the lamb costume. And even though a possessed dream Mabel was terrorizing us, everyone, Wendy, Robbie and the others were too busy laughing at me to care. I was stuck in my own humiliation as everyone started to call me a little kid, a wimp and a baby, even Wendy. And it didn't placate the ghosts who made me do the dance over and over again as everyone laughed at me until suddenly, the ghost possessed Mabel said, in that deep, deep voice, "You need to check on Mabel!"

"What?" I asked, confused as everything in my dream world faded to black and Mabel's ghost possessed white eyes turned normal and she crumpled to the ground in pain.

"Please Dipper!" she had cried out desperately in her normal voice.

It was that plea that caused me to wake up with a start. I gasp to catch my breath and glance down actually stupidly checking to make sure I'm not wearing that stupid lamb costume. Then, my heart pounding in my chest I turn to look towards Mabel's bed and see that it's empty.

"Mabel?" I call out. I don't have that twin sixth sense thing, so I _shouldn't_ be too worried. Right? She's probably in the bathroom or something, I mean, it's not like I didn't already know she's sick and she's not _that_ sick. She seemed like she was getting better and she already threw up earlier so the worst is long over. At least I try to let myself believe it but still, I can't shake the feeling so I climb out of bed and head towards the bathroom. Just to make sure. Can't hurt to check, right?

I can see the light is on from under the door and I hear her on the other side, and she's definitely throwing up again. And crying. Sobbing in fact, a desperate and pained sound of agony that has my own heart hurt for her. It isn't right that Mabel should ever, _ever_, feel bad enough to make such a sound.

I run up to the door and knock, "Mabel! Are you OK?" I slap my forehead at the question because _of course_ she's not OK.

"D-Di-i-ipper?" she whimpers before I hear her heaving again.

Panic is rising through me because I don't know what to do, what do I do? I wring my hands and bounce slightly in place as I tend to do when I'm panicked about something and knock on the door again, "Do you need me to come in there?"

She says something between heaves, but I don't know if she does or doesn't want me to come in. I mean, what if she wasn't decent or something? Like what if she got vomit on her nightshirt and had taken it off? The situation's already scary and awkward enough as it is…

The sounds of throwing up stops for a second and I knock again, "Mabel?"

I can hear her let out another shaky sob, but then suddenly it stops and I'm about to knock again when I hear a soft _thump_, and then silence.

"Mabel?" Silence. "Mabel!" More silence. "Damn it, Mabel you'd better be decent because I'm coming in!" I warn as I push the door open and burst inside.

I'm immediately met with a foul smell that has me gagging, but what really gets to me is the sight of my sister slumped on the floor near the toilet propped uncomfortably against the bathtub. Her hair is a wild mess, her eyes are closed, her skin is a ghastly shade of grey and covered with beads of sweat and her body is completely limp.

Instantly I'm at her side, placing my hands on her shoulders and I can feel the heat radiating through her damp shirt, "Mabel!" I shake her gently and her head lolls with the movement like a ragdoll. "Come on, sis, wake up!" Nothing. "Mabel _please_!"

Her eyes open then, bloodshot and glassy and it takes a moment for recognition to sink in and her lips tremble as she make a small squeaking sound and sobs, "D-Dipp-pp-per!" It's like a cry of relief and pain, a plea and a thank you and I melt at that and pull her into me and her head lolls onto my shoulder as she lifts a shaky hand to return the hug. I'm actually so relieved and terrified at the same time that the awkwardness doesn't even register as I hold her tight and rub her back comfortingly. Her breath is hot on my neck, and coming out in short shallow gasps.

I pull back slightly to sit on the floor and let her head rest against my chest and she curls up against me in a fetal position, her body trembling violently. I brush some matted hair from her face, "Mabel, you're burning up!" I exclaim, terrified, clutching her tightly to absorb the tremors and offer as much comfort as I can give.

She glances up at me, her eyes fluttering and she mumbles something I can't make out and then she weakly pushes away. The next thing I know she's leaning over the toilet, gagging and heaving, but nothing's coming out. I don't think she has anything left in her system to throw up.

I notice a small streak of blood on the side of the bathtub and realize she must've hit her head when she passed out just before I came in. More panic rises but I try to ignore it because panic will do her no good so I hold her steady as I rub circles in her back. When the dry heaves stop I gently help her to sit down on the floor, propping her up against the bathtub and then grab a towel from the rack and drape it over her. She curls into herself again, and I take that moment to carefully examine her head and sure enough I find a bloody knot on the back of her head, though it thankfully doesn't look as bad as I feared, but Mabel flinches with a whimper when I find it.

"Sorry!" I soothe, brushing my fingers through the damp mats of hair at her temple, which seems to help a little. "I'm going to get Grunkle Stan," I tell her, "He'll know what to do."

To my surprise she reaches out and brushes her fingers against my wrist as I start to get up, "Don' go!" she whimpers pleadingly, "D-Dipper…"

The look in her glassy eyes is almost enough to break me, "But Mabel," I say gently, "I don't know what to do! I'll be right back, I promise."

"Don' leave me…" she begs pathetically, her voice sounding so small and weak, "'m scared…he's gonna get me…scared D-Dipper…don' leave me 'lone with him…"

I almost ask who she's talking about, but then I realize she's probably delirious from the fever, as though I wasn't already worried enough! "I'll be right back, I swear." Feeling moisture build up in my eyes I wipe the tears away and I leave without looking back knowing that if I did I would see that desperate look in her eyes and have to endure more weak pleas for me to stay and then I'd probably lose it completely. I'm barely holding it together as it is and for Mabel's sake I can't afford to lose it.

I rush to Grunkle Stan's bedroom door and knock, "Grunkle Stan! Wake up! Mabel's really sick! Please!"

There's no answer though, and I try again, pounding loudly on the door this time.

Again no answer and when I place my ear against the door I don't hear a single sound. "OK Grunkle, I'm coming in!" I take a deep breath and dare to take a risk and open the door only to find the room empty. "Grunkle Stan?" I try again, confused because I know it's really late and if he's not in bed, where is he?

Oh man, oh man oh man! I start frantically rushing through the house looking for him but he's nowhere to be found. Where could he possibly be at this time of night? Finally I give up and run back to Mabel who seems to have passed out again.

OK think, Dipper, _think_. What does Mom usually do when I'm sick? What are Mabel's worst symptoms? She's been throwing up so she's probably dehydrated, and she has a high fever…of course! I'm such an idiot to not think of it before! I go back to our room and grab the barely touched glass of water and bring it back with me to the bathroom and then search around until I find the Tylenol.

I kneel down beside her and nudge her. It takes a moment but soon her eyes flutter open with a groan, "Mabel, you need to drink this."

"Dipper?" she frowns, obviously out of it, "What're you doin' here?" She looks around in confusion, "Wait…where is…where'd he go?"

"Who?" I ask, unable to help myself. She mumbles something I can't make out and then blinks slowly, and when she opens her eyes again recognition is there and I can tell she's back…sort of.

"I don't feel so good…" she moans, clutching her stomach again, gagging slightly.

"I know," I reply holding the glass out for her but she doesn't take it, instead she looks repulsed, "you should drink some water…it'll help."

She shakes her head petulantly, "Mmm-mm."

"You should try," I insist, as she winces, clutching her stomach, "you're getting dehydrated. I also have some Tylenol, it should help with your fever and the pain."

"Nuh-ugh," she grunts stubbornly, "s-something in the water…can't drink…"

I look dumbly at the glass and then back at her and yeah, she's back in lala land and that's really got me worried. I think a moment, "This water's safe, I promise."

She scrutinizes me with confused eyes, "You sure? You're not lyin' to me…'cuz the others're lyin'…tricked me…made me sick."

"Mabel it's me," I insist, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, "I would never trick you like that. You need to drink. You're dehydrated. This will help you feel better, I promise."

"Dipper?"

I sigh with relief, "Yeah. Here, you need to take this." I hand her a Tylenol and hold up the glass of water.

Hesitantly she reaches for the pill and puts it in her mouth and she reaches for the glass of water with trembling hands but she's shaking so much I have to help her drink. She drinks a few sips and then sighs, sinking deeper into the floor.

"Did that help?" I ask.

She nods as her eyes slide shut, "Mm-hmm."

"Good," I breathe, still worried out of my mind. We sit there on the bathroom floor for a few moments, Mabel seems to be dozing off as I consider what else I should do. Of course the bathroom floor can't be comfortable, and her nightshirt is so damp with sweat that can't be comfortable either.

She barely flinches when I put my hand on her forehead. She's still very hot to the touch so I grab a clean cloth and get it damp with cool water. Mom always did this for me when I had a high fever and that always seemed to help me. I'm not exactly the nurturing type, so I'm really out of my element here, but it makes sense, right? Combat a high temperature with something cool?

I place the cloth on her forehead and she does flinch this time with an audible shiver. But after a few seconds she sighs with relief. I hold the cloth awkwardly for a moment, wondering, _what now?_

Mabel slowly reaches for the cloth, holding it weakly to her forehead and blinks her eyes open, "Thirsty…"

"Huh? Oh, yeah OK," I nod, reaching for the glass and holding it to her lips. She takes a few drinks and gives me a grin.

"Thanks," she murmurs.

"No problem," I return, hoping that since she seems to be a little more coherent that maybe she's finally on the mend. "Come on," I say after another awkward moment, "you need rest, the bathroom floor isn't the place to get it." I reach my hand out to help her up but she hesitates, her arm snaking around her stomach protectively as she shakes her head.

"I'm afraid I might throw up again," she admits.

"I'll get you an ice cream pail to use as a barf bucket," I shrug, "besides, I don't think there's anything left in your system."

"Good point," she murmurs, her eyes fluttering as she swallows hard and groans. "Uhhhh…I feel so gross…bet I look it too…"

I take in her matted, wild mess of damp hair, the red flush to her pale cheeks and dishevelled and sweaty nightshirt soiled with vomit stains and I shake my head, "Naaahhh, you look fine."

She reaches up to punch me in the arm, though it's so weak I can barely feel it this time around and she snorts, "You're such a liar."

I give a soft chuckle, thankful that she seems to be more like herself, albeit still clearly very sick, but it's a good sign. I take her hand and help her to her feet, taking the cloth from her as she grabs my shoulder with both hands and leans into me just to keep from falling. I slide my arm across her back and hold her steady that way as one hand clutches my shoulder and the other grasps her stomach and we slowly make our way back to our room.

Mabel's very shaky on her feet, which is worrisome, and I really think I'm the only one keeping her from faceplanting on the floor right now. I can only hope that she doesn't pass out on the way or something, because me with my wimpy noodle arms would not be able to carry her.

She doesn't pass out thank goodness, but when we get to our room she curls up on the bed holding her stomach and squeezes her eyes shut in pain. "Dipper, can you hand me another nightshirt?" she asks faintly, "I feel gross in this."

"Sure," I reply, reaching into the bottom drawer of her dresser and handing her a long pink shirt with a picture of a panda on it. She holds her hand out with obvious effort and takes it from me. "Um, you're OK doing that yourself…right?" I ask awkwardly, genuinely worried that she'd need my help for this one, considering how much of a struggle it seems for her to just sit up.

She glares at me for a second, one of those looks that would strike a person dead if looks could kill. If she wasn't so scary sick right now, I think it might've been funny, but considering she looks like the undead right now…

"Right," I chuckle nervously, relieved beyond relief, because while I'd do anything for my sister, helping her change might be the one exception. "I'll be right back, I'm just going to hunt down a barf bucket for you then."

"Thanks," she replies, gagging slightly, "I think I'm going to need it."

I nod and head downstairs for the kitchen where I know Grunkle Stan had an empty ice cream pail in the garbage. I rinse it off and on my way back upstairs I look around for any sign of our Grunkle. Seriously, where can he be? It's almost three in the morning!

When I get upstairs I hear Mabel moaning, and I tentatively open the door to see her soiled floppy disk nightshirt wadded up on the floor and Mabel now changed writhing on her bed, clearly in pain.

I sit on the bed beside her and place my hand on her burning forehead and brush some of the damp mats of brown hair out of her face, "What can I do, Mabel?" I ask quietly.

"I don't _know_!" she cries, "I h-hurt all over!"

With a sigh I pull the blankets out from under her and drape them over her, tucking her in but she kicks the covers off and complains of being too hot, even as she's shivering so hard her teeth are chattering. This is bad, really bad. I place the damp cloth back on her forehead and wipe some of the sweat from her arms and face which seems to help, and try to get her to drink more water which she does but then she throws it up less than a minute later, as well as the medicine I gave her earlier.

At this point, I don't know what else to do. I need help. _Mabel_ needs help, more than I can give. I take a deep breath, considering calling someone, but who? Soos? Heck, 9-11? Grunkle Stan would kill me if I did, considering how cheap he is and how expensive a medical bill would be, but is Mabel's more important so I really don't care, but is she sick enough to need it?

I'm beginning to think so, though to be honest I'm still clinging to the hope that all we need to do is wait it out and that she'll be better in the morning.

I stay sitting on the bed beside her, stroking her hair at her temple soothingly as I whisper words of comfort, staying with her as she rides out this wave of pain. Under any other circumstance the action would feel awkward and weird, but if it helps even slightly I don't really care.

Soon she begins to doze off and I slip away to my own bed but I don't let myself get comfortable. I watch her sleep, listening to her breathe. On top of the high fever and pain, she doesn't seem to be sweating anymore and her breathing is beginning to sound funny so if she gets any worse…. Sighing I watch the clock and make a decision.

_Twenty minutes,_ I think, _if Grunkle Stan's not back in twenty minutes, I'm calling Soos. But if she gets worse, I don't care what Grunkle Stan might say, I'm calling 9-1-1._

I watch the minutes tick by as Mabel tosses and turns in her bed groaning occasionally, in a deep but restless sleep. The more I think about it, the angrier I become.

_Grunkle Stan, where the heck are you?_

* * *

A/N Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!


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